by Lydia Pax
Doubling the poor omen was that he had—technically—broken his word to Felix. That stung at him.
It had all been beyond his control. And yet that did not seem to matter. Not in his heart. His word was broken, and his child born under the cloud of death.
His biggest fear was stillbirth. The wooden rudis, symbol of his freedom, slapped against the meat of his back as he ran. He had only a small pouch with this gathered belongings from the arena. Rufus had taken his armor to be cleaned and polished so that Caius could display it in his home. It would be delivered on the morrow.
The day had been cloudy and hot, but now the clouds had broken and only clear starlight shined down. This did not make Caius feel any better. It made him feel as though the Gods watched him, as if they needed a clear view to unleash their judgment properly.
The home was small—the bottom floor of an apartment not far from the place where Caius’s brother-in-law, the barber Seneca, operated his business. Fabiana had picked it out. She had been a free woman for exactly one month.
Where had she gone in her newfound freedom? What had she done?
Caius had heard only bits and pieces. When she came to visit, he greeted her gladly. But his mind was consumed with training. He had to win his fight. He knew his freedom was on the line. So when she spoke of her life as a free woman, he could recall only snippets—she bought a length of green cloth for a bargain; the figs tasted especially good this season; there was no space in the street past sunset when all the traders delivered their wares.
It took Caius years to forgive himself for not paying better attention at that time. He had given up the whole of his heart to her before, and had promised over and over again that he would listen to her every day if only he lived past the fight.
He did live past the fight. But she did not.
Caius arrived at the small home and rushed inside. The obstetrix was there to greet him. She held his child in her arms, but her face told the whole, sad story.
For so long, after so many battles, Caius thought he might have finally earned a perfect life.
Fortune, as ever, had other ideas.
A gladiator had many essences, each as valid as the one before it. An outsider fighting his way back into society. A man living on the razor’s edge between glory and shame. A demi-god rousing the passions of thousands at once, worshiped by the crowd.
But more than any of that, as a gladiator, Caius had only ever felt he was one thing—condemned. For a time he had forgotten how condemned he was, and Fortune conspired to make him remember.
He would not forget again.
Chapter 43
If noses could wilt, if faces could, if an entire body’s worth of skin could, Porcia felt as though hers would do so now.
Across from her, in the new office she had made for herself after the disrepair from the fire, was Cammedius. He was a large, gross slave with a jutting jaw. His nose was beyond crooked, it was positively octagonal, and his eyes were yellow and runny. Were he not a beast in the arena, they would have done away with him long ago. But he was a beast in the arena, and they could cover up the worst of his ugliness with a good helmet.
Fortunately for her social standing, no such wilting of her skin or otherwise actually occurred.
The walls around her were decorated with silver shields, bought at a bargain from a sympathetic merchant. She had sold three of them for a profit to pay down some of her debts; the other four, however, looked lovely on her wall. She sometimes imagined herself as a warrior, cutting through the lines of her enemies one at a time.
“My husband will be dying soon,” she said, not even pretending to be sad.
Cammedius nodded. He breathed through his mouth. “Yes, Domina.”
“When he does, I shall be in charge. And once I am in charge, I will have all the power in this house. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Domina.”
His tone was vapid and empty. Not much original thought clanking around in that iron tomb of a head he boasted. Her original inclination was to use the smarter, craftier one—Flamma. But his squeamishness when it came to branding Caius unsettled her. That was no sort of servant she wanted to have doing her dirtiest of work.
“Wonderful. That means that the people who do as I say will be rewarded.” She leaned forward, offering the lug a bit of cleavage. Porcia knew she had plenty to spare. “Do you like rewards, slave?”
Cammedius grinned, openly leering at her breasts. “Yes, Domina.”
“Good. Because I want you to do something for me.”
“Oh.” Cammedius finally seemed to be catching up. “Of course, Domina.”
Caius owed her. He owed her. That was a fact as true as the day was long. It wasn’t enough that he had rejected her, oh no—and what slave would reject her?
She was positively the image of beauty. Venus herself had blessed Porcia, everyone said so. She inspired lust like a wine inspired stupidity. The two went hand in hand.
For Caius to turn her down was unforgivable—even after years. And it wasn’t enough for him that he had rejected her, oh no. He had to do worse than that.
He had to keep on winning.
Her debt, her miserable pile of debt that seemed without end, had started with him.
At that time in her life, three years ago when she had propositioned Caius, Porcia had never lost a bet. Fortune was purely on her side. And so, when Caius turned her down, she used her powers Fortune had gifted her with against him. She bet every denarii she had on him losing the match.
To increase her winnings, and to drive the stake straight home to his miserable heart, she even bet that he would die by the day’s end. That had been almost assured of when she slept with Senator Otho to ensure that the fight ended with an execution.
But he won. And as he was gone, it had taken everything Porcia had to bring her debt down to a manageable level. Otho helped at times, darling rich fellow that he was, but even he had his limits—despite all their fun in the bedroom.
She had even lowered herself to sleeping with her pathetic excuse for a husband for some hikes in her allowance. It wasn’t her fault that she was so terribly beautiful that the fool Rufus just fell all over himself trying to make her happy. The end of the pile of debt had been in sight—her wins had been slowly increasing, even with a loss here and there.
But now…now Caius was back, and he had won again. And with that win—which she had been convinced would never happen—she had been set back almost as far as she was before.
Well, no longer. She would make him pay—literally. He would bring her riches, or else.
“It has come to my attention that Caius has a child,” said Porcia. “Tell me, Cammedius. Do you have any moral qualms when it comes to abductions?”
Chapter 44
Many days passed. Rufus’s health faded; Caius’s health improved; training continued in the ludus.
His bad arm was almost his good arm again. He could not swing his sword as hard, yet, nor for as long as he wanted, but his approach was on target to be one hundred percent at the games in two weeks.
Felix fought as a murmillo—and so that was who Caius trained against. Their best murmillo was a younger man named Euclidites, a Greek who had distinguished himself well in the Capuan arena and many before it.
Felix was a terrific opponent. The more Caius heard of him, the more he came to respect the man. Felix had survived and beaten numerous top fighters in other cities, and had slaughtered more than seven fighters from House Varinius alone. There was no shortage of men at the ludus who feared him, and no shortage of men who wished him dead.
One story in particular struck Caius. Felix fought in a melee once against seven other men. Around them had been a ring of fire, and inside the small pit of their melee was a tall spiked post. The smallest misstep could leave a man with a spike through his heart.
Felix survived without a scratch. He took credit for killing four of the seven, though some said it was as many as six.
T
his was not a man to be taken lightly.
The day was hot and long, but Caius trained with his all. He pushed thoughts of Aeliana and her incumbent freedom from his head. Thinking so often of the future was no way to enjoy a woman.
At the end of his sparring session with Euclidites, he walked to the water trough to refresh himself. On the way, he thought of strategies, old tactics, that perhaps he could use to surprise the younger, more athletic fighter. But as he walked, his eyes fell upon the strangest sight.
Porcia stood at the end of the training sands, flanked on either side by tall armed guards. She held hands with his daughter Fabia.
Panic and confusion powered through his bones. He abandoned training, rushing forward. All he understood that if Porcia was near Fabia, then she was in danger. Caius dropped to a knee, taking Fabia in his arms.
“You’re stinky, Papa.” She laughed gleefully. Her arms were small around his neck.
“Yes, little one.” He nodded. “Papa is sorry about that.”
But just as soon as the embrace began, one of Porcia’s guards took Fabia by the arm and tugged her away. Caius stood, blood heated. The yank had been hard on Fabia’s arm, and he was ready to strike the man. A thick spear tip pressed to his chest from the other guard, stopping him.
Fabia started to cry. The guard holding her took her up the stone steps and toward the house. He carried her like a loaf of bread.
“Don’t worry, daughter,” he called after. “Don’t cry. Papa is here. It will be all right.”
Of course, she cried anyway. Caius’s heart felt like breaking. He turned to Porcia. She looked thrilled.
“What is the meaning of this?”
“It was my understanding that your daughter was in need of some quality education. I see no better place for such education than this very place.”
“This ludus is no place for a child.”
She tsked. “Caius, you surprise me. Violence is a natural part of life. I thought you would understand the importance a child being kept close to death.”
His eyes narrowed. The woman had lost her mind. Her vendetta against him was spiraling now, and he wished for all the gold in the world that he knew some way to stop it.
“You threaten my child?”
“Only if you make me. There is something I want from you.”
“Rufus won’t stand for this, Domina.”
“I assure you that Rufus doesn’t even stand to eliminate anymore. I care little about his vertical position. And if you think to influence his opinion on this matter, then I would be careful about how much you truly want your daughter to know of death. Word travels very fast in this ludus, slave, and it all travels to me.”
His eyes shifted up back to Fabia. She was almost gone from view now. “Name your price.”
She gestured for him to follow her away from the training grounds. Soon they were in front of the remaining wreckage of the stables. No prying eyes or overhearing ears there. The guards kept a healthy distance, not too far off. If Caius rushed at Porcia and tried to snap her neck, he might have finished before they stabbed him to death. But maybe not. It wasn’t the risk he wanted to take.
Yet.
“You,” she said, putting her hands across her midsection, “will train harder than you ever have in your life. You will put yourself into the most perfect shape possible. There will be no doubt as to whether you are prepared to fight Felix. You will look as a beast, ready to maul his prey. You will be the favorite of the crowds.” She raised an eyebrow. “And of the betting field.”
“And then?” Though Caius did not need to ask. He already knew the answer.
“And then, dear Ursus. You will lose. And die. In the arena.”
He nodded. “If I do that, my child lives?”
“Yes. Senator Otho is quite sympathetic to my plight when it comes to you. Should you think to outplay me somehow, he will order your death regardless. I would grow accustomed to the thought of a glorious end in the arena if I were you.”
“And my loser’s purse. It goes to her?”
“Whatever you wish.” Porcia shrugged. “She is a charming girl. So young, too. If you’d like, I could take her under my wing. Give her a proper life. Why, given time, she could learn to love me as her mother. Wouldn’t that be nice—for her to actually have a mother?”
He stepped forward, his every thought aflame. The guards shifted and moved forward with him, spears at the ready.
Caius flexed every muscle in his body, trying not to move.“You go too far, Domina.”
She leaned in, her breath hissing against his face. “I shall go as far as I want if you do not give me what I require, slave. Do you understand?”
Caius turned back to the stairs, where the guard had taken Fabia. Gone now. Kept no doubt in some small room. She was still crying. Not understanding. She was so young.
“Do you understand, slave?”
Porcia glared, clearly waiting for his capitulation.
“Yes, Domina. I understand perfectly.”
Fortune gave, Fortune took. Fortune cared not a whit for him.
*
Sounds muted. He saw a bird singing its heart out on the wall of the ludus, but could not make out a single note it made. He sat down in the mess hall.
The wooden seat there normally creaked heavily; but now there was nothing. Some part of him recognized that Murus must have been yelling at him to return to training, but he did not hear it. The vibrations of the sound hit his head and passed straight through without recognition or return.
Losing the fight was not a problem for him. Dying wasn’t. He’d had a taste of victory in the arena with Lucius, and it had been sweet, certainly. But it was a sweetness he’d had many times, one that he could manage without. And dying had been his plan all along when he came to this ludus.
But circumstances had changed, hadn’t they?
His fingers dug into the table, nails sliding under long patches of splintered wood. He tugged upward, cracking the pieces slow.
For one thing, he had never expected to fall in love with Aeliana. And he had. He realized that unequivocally now. The only reason he hadn’t said it was because he did not want to put such a burden on her.
She wanted him, that seemed certain. And she felt great affection for him, too. But love? A woman like her? She could have her pick of the litter anywhere she went. Falling in love with him was a fool’s errand—and even more so now, that he knew he would have to die in his next fight.
It had been smart of him, he rationalized, to tell her that he didn’t love her.
Another part of him circled like a fly, refusing to go away and demanding to be noticed. That if he was to die soon anyway, better to tell her the full amount of his feelings for her. Better to live every moment he could.
Hadn’t he, after all, made that same mistake with Fabiana?
But this time was different. This time, his daughter was alive. Her life was at stake. And even if he did what Porcia said, what guarantee did he have that she would give Fabia back to his sister?
None. None at all.
I win the fight, she kills Fabia. I lose the fight, Fabia lives, but I don’t know to what end. And either way, if I’m not in shape for the fight, she’ll kill Fabia regardless.
“That’s monstrous,” said Septus.
Caius looked up. A crowd of gladiators had filed into the mess hall with him. Septus, Conall, Ajax, Perseus. All of the thraex gladiators and many more besides. Lucius was next to the doorway, leaning against it with his arm bandaged from end to end. Iunius stood in the corner, stroking his beard thoughtfully.
Had Caius been speaking aloud? He must have been. They all looked at him with sympathy in their eyes.
“We’ll help you train,” said Conall. “Whatever you need.”
“That’s right,” said Septus. “Let the gods decide the rest. We can make you into a better fighter than you’ve ever been. Felix is a hard match, but you’ll be more than ready for him.”
“C
aius.”
The crowd split apart at the sound of Murus’s voice. Tension filled the room suddenly—how would any of them help Caius train without his say-so?
“You have only excelled as a fighter. You have done us honor in the face of being given a terribly dishonorable match. You’ve carried your load with grace, and never once stained this house.” Caius felt as though he were building toward some grand contradiction about duty to the Domina and House Varinius, no matter what. But he pulled Caius up from his seat and took him close in an embrace. “Whatever you need doing, we will do.”
The gathered crowd all voiced their assent, patting Caius on the back and shaking his hand. He had never felt such assurance from a group before. It was gratifying to feel that he had not worked unnoticed.
“Aye, bear shit.” Flamma pushed his way to the front of the crowd. “Count me in.”
All the assents and encouragement stopped. All the gladiators stared at Flamma in disbelief.
“What?” asked Lucius.
Septus shook his head. “You’re a bastard.”
“Yeah.” Flamma nodded. This was common knowledge, even to him. “So what?”
“So.” Septus looked at him in disbelief. “We don’t exactly trust you.”
“I fought murmillo for years,” said Flamma. “You want to put on a good show, you’ll need to train against someone who knows what they’re doing. Felix is a hell of a murmillo. I’ve seen him move. And I can fight better than anyone else here in that style, and that’s a fact.”
From the way he puffed out his chest and looked around, he dared the others to disagree. But no one did.
Murus had to agree. “That is a fact, Caius. If he’s half as good as he was before, he’s still the best one here.”
“If he’s so good,” asked Lucius, “why is he fighting as a dimachaerus?”
